


hand on my heartache

by pearlilly



Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, i wrote half of this on pain meds so i'm sorry, some brief angst, the title is a bangin song go listen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlilly/pseuds/pearlilly
Summary: a true relationship is two imperfect people refusing to give up on one another.or, the four times Fallon Carrington hesitated and the one time she didn't.
Relationships: Kirby Anders & Fallon Carrington, Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33
Collections: Hesitate





	hand on my heartache

I.

_June 2000_

The summer sun sparkled through the window, peeping past the drawn curtain and playing across Fallon’s face until she stirred. Drowsy and still clinging to the fringe of a princess-themed dream, she turned and glanced at the hot pink and lavender Barbie alarm clock that crouched on her white Pottery Barn nightstand. In a room festooned with Lilly Pulitzer and Laura Ashley, grounded by tasteful white and gold accents - all selected by Alexis - the clock was the one thing Fallon had been allowed to choose for herself. She’d caught Alexis trying to sneak it out of her room more than once, and had solved that problem by practically cementing it onto the surface of the nightstand with used wads of watermelon Bubblicious chewing gum. There was sure to be a fight when Alexis discovered _that_ particular home improvement, but she’d been too busy pounding mimosas with the cabana boy to pay Fallon much mind this summer. 

Blinking and bleary-eyed, Fallon noted the time on the clock. 7 am. She was supposed to be down for breakfast by 7:30 so she could meet with Ms. Ravenel, her tutor, a little after 8. 

Fallon peeled back her blankets and sat up, draping her legs over the side of her bed and stretching before getting to her feet. She was a little spitfire of seven years old, still wearing clothes that had fit her at five, and more annoyed each day that her height hadn’t caught up yet, either. She tucked her Steiff teddy bear into his place atop her pillows, then set about pulling the sheets and blanket back into place. Her arms were too short to reach all the way across the bed - a queen-sized monstrosity that was far too big for her - but she did her best to smooth the bedding, irked by a wrinkled line that ran straight down the middle barely out of her reach; a visual reminder of just how tiny she was. She knew that Mrs. Gunnerson would send the maid up to redo it, but it was part of her morning ritual. One day, she’d be able to make the bed perfectly, all by herself. That would show them. 

Fallon stripped off her yellow nightgown and exchanged it for a Polo Ralph Lauren tennis dress. As she brushed her hair into a ponytail and struggled to buckle her new sandals, she could hear Kirby chattering away downstairs. At six years old, the redheaded girl stood four inches taller than Fallon - a fact that she loved pointing out whenever she got the opportunity - and spoke English in a strange, accented cadence that made it sound like all of her words were encapsulated in bubbles. She’d been at the manor for a few weeks, but Fallon still hadn’t made up her mind on how she felt about her. She was just so _much,_ all the time, and the serious Fallon had never encountered anyone quite like her before. She didn’t know what to make of her. 

Another glance at the clock revealed it was 7:20. Fallon grabbed her workbook and pencil box and begrudgingly headed to the hallway. 

The soles of her sandals were stiff from newness and clattered against the polished wood of the stairs, earning her a sharp glance and a ‘tsk’ from Mrs. Gunnerson when she landed at the bottom. Glancing at her apologetically, Fallon took care to step gingerly as she walked into the kitchen. 

Kirby sat in the breakfast nook, a half-eaten plate of fruit and toast in front of her, largely ignoring it as she fiddled with her keyring of Hit Clips with one hand and tried to feed her Tamagotchi with the other. Anders stood at the island, reading a copy of the _Sydney Morning Herald_ and half-heartedly imploring Kirby to eat while he sipped a mug of tea. Blake and Alexis were nowhere to be found, and Fallon could feel a knot of tension between her shoulders immediately release as soon as she noticed their absence. She loved her parents - who didn’t? - but they were imposing people, especially to a figure as small as Fallon. 

“Good morning, Fallon,” Anders greeted. He handed her some apple juice in her favorite Polly Pocket cup, the one that he kept in the butler’s pantry especially for her. 

Fallon took the cup from him, her pinky automatically raising. 

“Good morning. Where are my parents? Where’s Steven?”

“Your father was called to Charleston on urgent business. Your mother elected to spend the day at the country club with the Junior League. Steven joined her.”

Fallon’s small shoulders sagged. “I wanna go.” The country club had an elaborate pool and splash pad area, and that was one of the few things she could convince Steven to do with her. He’d gotten aloof as they’d gotten older, embarrassed to have his baby sister tagging along after him.

“I know, my dear. Perhaps next time.”

Fallon’s lower lip poked out into a pout. The tutoring had been Anders’s idea - after watching Fallon toil her way through first-grade math, he had suggested regular lessons to keep her from falling behind during the summer. She hated him for it. Ms. Ravenel had blue hair and smelled like stale alcohol and she’d whacked Fallon’s knuckles with a ruler on more than one occasion. She’d much rather have spent the day at the pool with Steven than struggling through mental math while Kirby crashed around in the background. 

A scowling Fallon plodded over to the table, setting down her workbook, pencil box, and juice glass, and started piling pineapple cubes and kiwi slices on a plate. Kirby brightened as she approached, setting down her Tamagotchi to give Fallon a big, animated wave. 

“G’day, mate!” She said cheerfully. Fallon sat down across from her, an involuntary, judgmental glance sweeping over Kirby’s tangled hair and white tank top that was already littered with juice stains. 

“I told you, I don’t know what that means,” she grumbled, picking at the fruit on her plate. Still bitter about missing out on a pool day, she was not in the mood to deal with Kirby. The phone rang in the main hall, and Anders left to go answer it. 

“It just means good morning, friend,” Kirby said patiently, oblivious to Fallon’s ill mood. 

“We aren’t friends,” Fallon replied, the words slipping out without her meaning for them to. She glanced up at Kirby, expecting her to look at least a little hurt, but the other girl’s expression remained unchanged. 

“But we _could_ be,” Kirby reminded her, her bubbly accent trilling out into a song. She beamed at Fallon, then picked up a strawberry and popped it into her mouth. Not even Fallon’s stormy demeanor could faze her. 

Anders returned to the kitchen, frowning. 

“Fallon, Ms. Ravenel won’t be able to make it today. Her car has a flat.”

Fallon’s chest surged with joy, and across the table, Kirby’s eyes were already glittering with a plan. “Really? She isn’t coming?”

Anders looked uneasy. “I suppose I could go over the arithmetic with you myself…”

“No, Anders, please? Pleeeease?” Fallon put on her best begging face, folding her hands under her chin and letting her lip poke back out. “Pretty please with sugar on top?”

“I suppose one day won’t set you back too much. But make sure you’ve gone over your assignments for tomorrow.”

Fallon squealed with joy, jumping out of her chair and throwing her arms around him. “Thank you!”

Anders chuckled and patted her head, then took a leather folio from the counter. “I have to facilitate the weekly staff meeting. Please, you two, try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

Fallon nodded, returning to her seat. She’d just picked up another piece of pineapple when she felt someone’s eyes on her. Looking up, she found the younger girl positively _beaming_ at her.

“What?”

“You’re free!” Kirby exclaimed, arms extended wide in joy. “We can play all day! Hurry up and eat and then I can show you the fort I’m working on!”

Fallon hesitated. The idea of playing with Kirby hadn’t even crossed her mind. Still, with Steven not here, her choice of playmates was pretty slim, and she still felt a little bad for snapping at the girl earlier. After all, she just wanted to play with her - just like Fallon loved to play with Steven. She could be nice for a day. She waited another beat, drank down the last of her juice, then turned to Kirby with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. 

“You said something about a fort?”

* * *

  
II.

_November 2007_

_The nightmare began as it always did: with red._

_Fallon started awake, in her own bed, but the normal pink and green bedding was replaced with satin sheets and a duvet in a deep, blushing crimson. The damask pattern that adorned the bedding was done in a deeper shade of red, the ornate designs swirling up her body like tongues of flame; like she was being burned alive. Fallon pressed a hand to her collarbone, willing her heart to slow down amid the rising sense of panic. It even felt hot in her room._

_Shaking her head to try and get her bearings, Fallon struggled out from underneath the weighty linens and stepped out of bed, surprised to find that she was wearing a scarlet nightgown. The blazing cherry wood that comprised the floor was warm beneath her feet, and the air was thick and heavy. Fallon couldn’t help but clear her throat as she crossed to the window._

_It was either late evening or early morning, she decided, lifting aside the ruby curtains to look outside. The sky smoldered with a sanguine color, the deep shade of russet far too foreboding to be anything remotely pretty. It felt unnerving. What was that saying the sailors at Tybee always had? Red sky in morning--_

_“Fallon!”_

_Fallon started, reflexively turning to look behind her. There was no one there. What the--_

_“Fallon!”_

_Her eyes darted around, looking for the source of the sound. Had it come from outside? She stepped closer to the window, noticing a brick-colored town car in the drive, its trunk and back doors open. She frowned. Who could that be?_

_As she stared, she noticed a small commotion; three struggling people slowly making their way to the car. Two men in uniforms like the ones Blake required of his staff, only theirs were claret instead of his preferred black, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen the men before. They were hustling along with a figure that seemed to be putting up a ferocious fight._

**_“Fallon!”_ **

_The figure was dressed in a white hoodie and white track pants, an eye-watering contrast against the singed grass and burgundy sky. It was nearly as tall as the men that accompanied it, and when they turned, the figure’s hood fell down its back, revealing long, bright red hair._

_Kirby._

_Fallon opened her mouth to try to call back to her, but wasn’t able to make any sound. She could hear Kirby’s screams echoing across the courtyard as the men finally managed to subdue her in the back of the car and pull away from the manor. Her throat felt tight. As she stepped back away from the window, the curtains on either side of it immediately burst into flame._

_“Fallon.”_

_She turned to see Blake standing in her doorway, clad in a puce suit, completely oblivious to the fiery scene behind her that was now spreading from the curtains into the ceiling._

_“This is for the best, Fallon. You’ll see that in time.”_

_Her bedroom was now rent with flames, her eyes watering as she gasped for air. The ceiling groaned, the lightbulbs on the chandelier popped from the heat and showered her with shattered glass._

_Just as it began to crash down towards her, she woke up._

A low rumble of thunder shook the panes on her window as Fallon bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat and struggling to catch her breath. She reached out to flip on her lamp, relieved to see that her bedroom was still full of its usual preppy accoutrements. It was just a dream. Just that dream again. 

Her hands shook as she opened the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out the new bottle of Valium that her pediatrician had recently given her for days like these. She poured two of the little yellow pills into her palm and downed them with the rest of a bottle of Evian that sat beside the bed, folding her arms as though trying to literally hold herself together.

Hearing a small whine, Fallon glanced toward the wall. Her new hound puppy was eyeing her longingly from his basket, as though waiting for the slightest indication that he was welcome. 

“Come here, Bo,” she sighed, patting the covers beside her. 

Bo leaped out of his basket and jumped onto the chest at the foot of Fallon’s bed, then climbed the rest of the way up. He was an unwieldy thing, all big paws and long legs, and he eagerly scrambled into Fallon’s lap to lick her face just as another crack of thunder shot through the house. 

Fallon huddled in bed, clinging to Bo while she waited for the medicine to kick in. Thunder continued to rumble in the distance, but she finally fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

***

_September 2007_

_Two Months Earlier_

The unyielding Atlanta heat had finally relented into something softer; something more manageable, at least. At fourteen and thirteen years old, Fallon and Kirby’s relationship had fallen into a similar sort of routine. The girls had grown into an amicable sort of resignation to one another’s presence. While they weren’t one another’s first choice for a companion, they each had to admit that it was sort of nice to constantly have a friend around. Though they didn’t attend the same school, they spent their evenings in Fallon’s room doing homework and listening to music. Fallon sometimes pretended like she was bored by the company, but she noticed that her math homework always seemed to get done when Kirby was around.

On this particular evening, night had fallen early. The peach trees were losing their leaves, the limbs looking sharp and jagged as they silhouetted against the moon. The girls were slouched in beanbag chairs by Fallon’s window, lazily filling out their worksheets on the lap desks that rested on their knees. The All-American Rejects blared out of Fallon’s giant iHome that took up most of the study desk that she refused to use. 

“Hey.”

Fallon looked over at Kirby. “What?”

“You wanna see something cool?”

Fallon rolled her eyes. “No.”

Kirby looked disappointed for a brief moment, but her eyes were bright with mischief. “Come on.”

Fallon leaned forward to set her lap desk on the floor, deciding to humor Kirby. “Okay, what?”

“Is the door shut?”

Fallon looked to the other wall and shook her head. “It’s cracked.”

“Go shut it and lock it.”

“Why?”

“Can you just do it, please?”

Rolling her eyes, and already regretting engaging with Kirby, Fallon heaved herself out of her beanbag chair and went to push the door all the way shut, flicking the lock into place with her thumb. 

“Okay, it’s shut and locked. What could you possibly have to show me that’s so important?”

Kirby dug her hands into her black messenger bag and surfaced with a crumpled paper sack, not even capable of waiting a moment to draw out the suspense before she dumped the contents onto her lap desk and held them up excitedly. “Smokes!”

Fallon wrinkled her nose at the selection of matchbooks, Swisher Sweets, and loose Pall Malls that littered Kirby’s lap. “And…?”

“And? Don’t you want to try one?”

“Not really,” Fallon said coyly, but her eyes strayed back to the brightly colored matchbooks. 

“Come on, just one. It’ll be fun.” She picked up a purple package of Swisher Sweets and the matchbook Fallon had been eyeing, offering them to her. “These ones are grape.”

“...Just _one,”_ Fallon agreed cautiously, taking the items out of Kirby’s hand. “And you have to Febreze the entire room after.”

Kirby waved a hand, unbothered by Fallon’s guidelines. “Okay.”

Fallon picked up the matchbook and studied it carefully, plucking a match from the pack and eyeing the strike strip on the side of the package. “I’ve never actually used a match before,” she admitted. 

“Neither have I,” Kirby said sheepishly, selecting her own match. “You wanna do a practice one together?”

Fallon nodded, more comforted by that offer than she wanted to let on. “Yeah. On three?”

Kirby nodded in return, readying her own match. “One…”

“Two…”

“Three.”

The girls struck their matches at the same time, squealing slightly as they shimmered to life. 

“That wasn’t that bad,” Fallon admitted, fumbling for a Swisher Sweet to try and light it. 

Neither of the girls had noticed that they both were holding their matches too close to the head, so as they burned, the flames drew dangerously close their fingers. Fallon’s match dipped down to her thumb first, startling her and causing her to drop it out of reflex to put the singed finger in her mouth. Seconds later, Kirby squeaked and dropped her own match. 

Nursing their burnt fingers, the girls were oblivious to the flames spreading behind them until they smelled the acrid odor of burning fabric. 

“Shit,” Fallon swore, “did we mess up the carpet?”

She turned to look for her spent match, but instead was met with bright, crackling flames starting to lick at the bottom of her beanbag chair. She leaped up with a yelp, yanking Kirby from her chair and watching helplessly as they spread across the floor to her desk and began to climb the curtains. 

“I-- I’m gonna go get help!”

Kirby stood as though rooted to the spot, the matchbook still in her hand. 

***

Later, once the fire had been put out and the girls checked over for injuries, Blake sat Fallon down in his office while Anders tended to Kirby in his. 

“Fallon,” he began, “I am glad that you aren’t hurt and that you called for help when you did. We’ll get your room fixed. But I need to know - did you have any part in what happened?”

Fallon hesitated, unsure of what to say. How could she explain what had happened? Sitting across from him, feeling unbearably small under his steely gaze, her tongue felt thick in her mouth and she couldn’t find the words to tell him the truth. 

After a few moments, Blake seemed to take her silence as an answer. “Okay.”

***

The next evening, Fallon sat in her room, trying to salvage some of the burnt things from her desk. Her iHome sat in a twisted, melted grey hunk. Her equestrian medals were coated with soot, the ribbons that they’d hung from now nothing but a memory. The only thing that hadn’t been completely ruined was a framed picture of her and Kirby that the redhead had given her for her birthday. 

Surrounded by her ruined things, and feeling quite sorry for herself, Fallon almost didn’t hear the car pull up outside. 

“Fallon!”

Kirby’s distressed voice cut through her reverie, and Fallon crossed to the smoky window to find Anders holding her by the elbow, gravely leading her to the waiting car. It looked like a storm was brewing - the sky was an angry, deep shade of grey, and she could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. Fallon could see Kirby’s suitcases in the open trunk, and a cold wind rustled through her red hair as she struggled to free herself from her father’s grasp. Even from this distance, Fallon could tell her face was streaked with tears. Oh, _no…_

Fallon stood dumbfounded, unable to respond. Anders bundled Kirby into the car, his face etched with a look of deep sorrow, but still heedless of her screams as she pounded her fists against the back windshield. He thumped the roof of the car twice, and it drove off. He watched it for a moment as it went down the winding drive, then collapsed to his knees on the pavement; a man completely broken by grief.

“Fallon.”

Fallon turned to find her own father standing in the doorway, looking rigid and uncomfortable as he caught sight of her expression. Thunder crashed behind her, and she once again found herself unable to speak.

“This is for the best, Fallon. You’ll see that in time.”

* * *

III.

_January 2018_

“Sorry for the way things turned out with you and Liam.”

“Just don’t.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!”

“...Sorry. I just wanted to say that I’m here for you. If you need a friend. Anything. I’m here.”

“Just please leave me alone, Kirby. Okay?”

  
  


_March 2018_

It had been nearly two months since that conversation, and Kirby was starting to get genuinely worried about Fallon. 

She realized that it had been almost eleven years since they’d lived together and that she likely didn’t know the girl as well as she once did, but she liked to think of herself as a pretty perceptive person. Fallon had barely left her room since they’d spoken, and when Kirby had seen her, her face was dark with sadness and deep circles ringed her eyes. It almost hurt to look at her. 

This particular morning, Kirby had decided that enough was enough - Fallon had to talk to someone at some point, and why shouldn’t that person be her?

It was barely 10 am, and she’d already dressed in her favorite black jumper and silk blouse, then raided the fresh dry cleaning from the rack Mrs. Gunnerson kept in the laundry, selecting a pink wool coat and herringbone pants. Still barefoot so that Fallon wouldn’t be able to hear her coming in, she slipped up the stairs and down the hall to her room, opening the door and tiptoeing to fling the curtains open wide. 

Fallon groaned as sunlight streamed in, visible even through her sleeping mask. She huffed with annoyance and sat up, pushing the mask out of the way and rubbing her eyes to see who had woken her. 

“Kirby? What the hell-”

Kirby held up a finger, and to her surprise, Fallon immediately fell quiet. 

“You and I are spending the day together.”

Fallon scoffed. “Like hell we are.”

Kirby crossed back over to the bed, tossing the outfit she’d chosen onto the duvet and fixing Fallon with a cold glare. 

“I’m not asking,” she said smoothly, snatching the sleeping mask off of Fallon’s head. “Shower. Now. And get dressed. You have to get out of this house.”

Fallon paused and didn’t immediately move. She couldn’t understand why Kirby had decided all of this, much less why she seemed so sure that it’d be so easy to get her to agree. Still, she had a commanding sort of presence about her that Fallon had never seen before. 

“And why would I do that?” She asked, folding her arms. 

Kirby sighed. “I went to Idaho for you.”

“Technically, you _sneaked_ into Idaho--”

Kirby swatted her shoulder with the mask. “I’m not discussing this with you right now. Get _up.”_

“I’m getting up because I _want_ to get up,” Fallon clarified, easing out of bed. She pulled her pink dressing gown over her shoulders and stepped into fluffy white slippers before disappearing into the bathroom. 

“And be quick about it!” Kirby called after her. Pleased that she’d won, she tossed the sleeping mask onto Fallon’s pillow and settled herself into an upholstered chair in the corner to wait. Getting Fallon out of bed had been the majority of the battle. She was almost there. 

***

An hour later, Fallon was dressed, but still pouting in the front seat of Kirby’s car as she wound their way through the busy Atlanta traffic. 

“Care _ful!_ ” She shouted as Kirby tried to yet _again_ merge onto the wrong side of the road after turning. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Kirby muttered, swinging the car back into her proper lane. 

“Where are we going, anyway?” Fallon grumbled. She let go of the handle above her window, her knuckles white from gripping it so hard, and carefully flexed her fingers. 

“You can’t pout for the rest of your life, Fallon,” Kirby told her, flicking on her turn signal to merge. “We’re going to have a girls’ day, and at the end of it, you’re going to be done with all this.”

“And if I don’t?”

Kirby ignored her - she’d turned the car into a parking lot and was now swinging it into place in front of a valet. “Out.”

Fallon grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car, if for no other reason than because she was glad to no longer have to experience Kirby’s driving. She hadn’t been paying much attention to where they were going during the drive, her sour mood clouding her senses too much to notice. As she stepped out, she could see that they were in the heart of downtown Atlanta, standing in front of the old Sears Roebuck building. 

“Ponce City Market? Really?”

“It’s cool and you know it. We’re going to do some shopping and have some drinks. It’ll be fun.”

Kirby looked so pleased with herself for coming up with this plan, and Fallon couldn’t exactly leave, so she just sighed and nodded. 

“Fine. Two hours.”

“Three.”

“We’ll see.”

Kirby shrugged and grabbed her by the elbow, turning to steer her toward the front door. 

***

It had been years since Fallon had been to the market, and she had to admit that she was impressed by all the changes that had been made. She and Kirby wound their way through various boutiques and art shops, each of them filling a few shopping bags with unnecessary purchases. 

Normally Fallon would’ve been concerned about paparazzi, but Kirby, with her tall stature and bright red hair, acted as a sort of shield for her. People were so busy looking at her that they barely registered Fallon. It wasn’t hard to see why, she mused to herself, hanging behind Kirby in the jewelry store as she chatted with the shopkeeper over rings. She was much more put together than she had been when they were kids, but her wide smile and easy laugh still made her incredibly pleasant to spend time with. 

The two hours that Fallon had agreed to seemed to fly by - so much so that she was almost disappointed when Kirby suggested they head down to the food hall for lunch. Once they settled into a booth and had their drinks in hand, Kirby rounded on Fallon.

“So.”

Fallon looked at her expectantly. “So?”

“So how are we feeling?” Kirby asked. She leaned back, draping her arm over the back of the booth.

Fallon shrugged, dropping her gaze to stare down into her spritzer. “Fine, I guess.”

The action was subtle, but caused a seismic shift in the energy around them; Fallon looked smaller and more subdued than Kirby had ever seen her. “Hey. Look at me.”

Fallon begrudgingly looked back up at Kirby, surprised to see a look of genuine concern written across her face. “What?”

“Why is this eating at you like this?” Kirby asked. “He’s just a guy, you’ve had breakups before - why is this one so different?”

“...I guess because _he_ felt different,” Fallon admitted, taking a sip of her spritzer. “I thought he was the one. And it kind of feels like I’m running out of time.”

“Time for what, exactly?”

“Time to find someone. Time to find someone and not scare them off immediately with all of my shit.” She shrugged again, looking very uncomfortable. “I’m a lot and I know that, but Liam felt like he… it just felt like he could handle that. And I know what I did was wrong and I hate myself for it because - God, Kirby, what if I’m too much for anyone? What if I never find someone else to love me?”

The last few words came out quietly, and Fallon’s cheeks immediately burned red. She was afraid to look back up at Kirby, convinced she’d be giving her a simpering look of pity. When she finally found the nerve to meet her eyes again, she was relieved to find that the other woman was still wearing that same look of concern.

“You’re wrong, Fallon,” she said gently. She let go of her glass, her hand drifting down to Fallon’s knee and squeezing it. “It isn’t that you’re too much. It’s that he wasn’t enough.”

Fallon looked down at Kirby’s hand on her knee, her breath catching in her throat. “Kirby, I--” 

She stopped, unable to find the words. 

Kirby hesitated for a moment, studying her, then leaned in and softly pressed their lips together. 

It was short - a ghost of a kiss, really - and when Kirby pulled away she was biting her lip, looking abashed. 

“What was that?” Fallon asked, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Sorry,” Kirby muttered, hanging her head. “I don’t know.”

Fallon was quiet for a moment, then reached down to cover Kirby’s hand with her own. “I’m sure we can figure it out.”

* * *

IV.

_June 2018_

Fallon and Kirby’s cautious courtship quickly fell to the wayside - by May, they were holding hands around the house, and by June, they weren’t even trying to be discreet anymore. One particular morning, they were stumbling around the kitchen together, both of them more than a little hungover from too much champagne the night before. Fallon was rubbing her temples while she dropped French toast into a frying pan, determinedly trying to ignore Kirby hovering behind her, pretending to pout to get her attention.

“Will you _stop_ with the frying pan for a second?”

“Will _you_ stop _whining?”_

Kirby snorted, stepping up behind Fallon to wrap her arms around her waist and draw her back against her chest. Fallon squealed, swatting her with her spatula as she tried to break free. 

“Kirby, come _on_ , this isn’t funny…”

“On the contrary, I find it very funny,” Kirby retorted, brushing Fallon’s hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck.

“...Ahem.”

The girls turned the gaze to the doorway to find Anders and Blake standing on the threshold, each holding an empty coffee cup and looking more than a little confused. 

Fallon reacted first, nearly dropping her spatula out of surprise. Kirby managed to pull her lips away from Fallon’s skin, but her arms had locked around her waist like a vise.

“Kirby,” Fallon hissed, “Let _go.”_

The sharp rap of a spatula against her wrist finally made her release her grip. 

“Girls,” Anders greeted. 

“...Girls,” Blake echoed, tugging at his collar and following him into the kitchen. 

“Dad,” Fallon and Kirby said together. 

The men crossed to the Keurig and each poured his own cup of coffee, taking longer to sweeten it than the task actually required. They stood awkwardly for a moment, their usual formal demeanor completely gone. Fallon was just about to say something to break the silence when Anders spoke. 

“This is…” he trailed off, seeming to struggle for the right words to say. When he finally looked back up at them, his eyes had softened with a kindness that Fallon often saw written across Kirby’s own face. She’d never realized just how much they looked alike until now. “A fine match.”

His cheeks reddened a little as if he was afraid he’d said too much, and he looked at Blake as if for confirmation. 

“Yes,” Blake agreed, taking a sip of his coffee. He nodded, and Fallon could tell from the look on his face that he meant it. “A fine one indeed.”

Anders and Blake crossed over to Fallon and Kirby, each man kissing his daughter’s forehead and squeezing the other girl’s shoulder, and then they were grabbing leather folios from the butler’s pantry and disappearing back into the depths of the house. 

“Well,” Kirby said, turning to Fallon with a grin, “that was easy.” 

Fallon just beamed, more relieved by the encounter than she’d been expecting, and stretched up to kiss Kirby’s nose. Kirby caught her by the waist again, pulling her in for a proper kiss. Even though they’d been dating for several months now, Fallon couldn’t help the butterflies that rose in her stomach every time. 

_August 2018_

The heady late summer sun was finally drifting toward the horizon, obscured by angry storm clouds that made it so dark that it felt like it was later than it really was. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of azaleas and overripe peaches, and an unsettling breeze kept mussing the branches on the trees. 

Fallon, white-knuckled and thin-lipped, had received several severe storm warnings and tornado watches on her phone, and although it was only 6 pm, she’d left the office earlier than she normally did to give herself time to get home. She wasn’t sure if she’d remembered to refill her Valium - it’d been such a dry summer, she hadn’t really needed it - and she definitely needed a drink if she was going to make it through the evening in one piece. 

Pulling up to the manor, she left her car in the circle drive instead of parking it and walking from the garage, wanting to get into the house as soon as possible. Stepping into the foyer, she closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, trying to ground herself and push down the panic she felt rising in her chest. 

“Fallon?” Kirby appeared from around the corner. 

“Hey.”

“...You’re home early,” Kirby noted, crossing over to her. She had her hair in a messy ponytail and was clad in an old, baggy Clash t-shirt and faded denim cutoffs, and just seeing her was already making Fallon’s heart slow to a more normal rate. 

“Yeah, um… Blake told me to go ahead and knock off for the day.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it, but Kirby decided not to question it for the moment. Instead, she reached down to take Fallon’s Birkin bag and hang it on the hook beside the door, then grabbed her hand.

“Well, I’m glad,” she said simply, swinging their hands. “Come on, I’ll fix you a drink.”

***

Fallon stood at the end of the island in the kitchen, worrying a cloth napkin in her hands and staring anxiously at the ever-darkening sky through the window. Kirby, quiet but not oblivious, flitted behind the wet bar and set about mixing a strong Southside. 

“Here you go!” She said brightly, setting the drink down in front of Fallon. She took it gratefully, taking a long sip. 

“Are you alright?” Kirby asked. The question had barely left her lips when a loud rumble of thunder rolled through the house and Fallon was left squeaking and hiding her face in her hands. 

“...Fallon, are you… I guess I’ve just never noticed before, but are you afraid of thunderstorms?”

Fallon peeked out from behind her hands. “No,” she scoffed, but she visibly winced as lightning flashed outside. 

“Fallon, it’s just a storm,” Kirby soothed, laying a hand on her arm. “You know it can’t hurt you.”

“I know that.”

“Then why does it do this to you?”

Fallon was quiet, not seeming like she wanted to answer, but she mumbled something that Kirby couldn’t quite hear. 

“What was that?”

“I _said,”_ Fallon murmured, “that it isn’t the storm, it’s the memories.”

She glanced up at Kirby, but the redhead was just staring at her, confused. 

“...What memories?”

“...The fire?”

“What about the fire?”

“The… next day, when they sent you away, it was-- it was storming like this.”

Kirby’s gaze softened. “Fallon--”

 _“No,_ I have to-- I could _hear_ you when they took you away, Kirby. I saw it happen and I didn’t do anything to stop it. It was the worst day of my life and I relive it every time I hear a thunderstorm because I didn’t-- I could’ve protected you! I could’ve _done_ something, it was my fault…”

“We don’t know for sure who started the fire, Fallon,” Kirby said gently. “It could’ve been both of our faults. And we were kids. It wasn’t your decision. Maybe for a while I thought it was, but I know now that it wasn’t.”

“How can you not be mad at me?”

“I forgave you a long time ago,” Kirby shrugged. “And, I mean… I’m not really interested in holding grudges against people I love.”

Fallon hesitated, the anxiety in her stomach humming to a fever pitch as she tried to figure out if she’d heard Kirby correctly. “You what?”

Kirby shifted her weight a little uncomfortably. “I love you, Fallon.”

There it was. The confirmation of everything she’d been wanting to hear; the absolution that she never thought she’d deserved, and here it was, being presented to her without any pretense. 

She didn’t hesitate a second time. She couldn’t; this had to be said. “I love you, too.”

Another crack of thunder sounded through the house, but Fallon didn’t even notice it. She was too busy pulling Kirby into her arms, kissing her once, twice, three times, desperately, as though she couldn’t get enough, and dragging her over to the sofa to crawl into her lap. The storm quickly reached a fever pitch, rain slapping against the windows and wind rattling the panes. 

Wrapped up in Kirby’s arms, tucked safely into her embrace, Fallon barely even noticed the storm raging outside. She could hardly remember why they’d ever bothered her at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is. A very broad interpretation of the prompt lmao
> 
> Thank you to Sarah for beta reading :)


End file.
